Tapestry
by Domini Porter
Summary: A series of intertwining stories spanning thirty years and seven women. Femmeslash, including some Blackcest. Super-slow to update, I know this ahead of time . . .
1. Chapter 1: Dark Geometry

_Apolline._

_Apolline._

_Apolline._

Lily whispered the name as quietly as she could. Still, a couple of girls at a nearby table glanced up at her. She bit her lip.

_Apolline_, she thought. _Apolline_.

The pleasure of thinking, Lily decided, was that one was allowed to think as loudly as one wanted, even in the library. Even if one was thinking about things that shouldn't be thought about anywhere, even the library. Almost funny, that there were things one ought not think about in a library, which was, after all, a room designed for thinking.

Not _that_ funny, she decided half a second later. But thinking about Apolline made her giggle whether something was funny or not.

_Apolline._

She must've been giggling aloud, as the two girls at the next table were now staring at her quite pointedly. She shoved her half-completed Potions essay into the dusty book she'd been pretending to study and tripped a little as she tried to leave. Blushing, she glanced around. Nobody had seen, not that it mattered, since the only opinion she wanted was at that moment most likely tucked securely in an enormous gilded carriage.

_Apolline_.

Lily was so wrapped up in her thoughts that it took her several seconds to realize she was still standing at the library door, tugging at the potions book that stubbornly refused to follow her out.

"Forgetting something, Evans?" someone snickered. She blushed more deeply and walked meekly to the checkout desk.

"Sorry," she mumbled. Madame Pince stared down her thin, beaky nose, her eyes made even sharper by the pince-nez perched on it.

"I should think so," Pince snapped as she marked the book. "Two weeks."

Lily nodded and backed hastily out of the library. More snickering followed her, but the only voice Lily cared about was _hers_.

_Apolline_.

Lily walked down the corridor, her mind filled with thoughts of Apolline, her long, slender fingers, her long, shimmering hair, her long, delicate neck. She could almost see her, could almost touch her, could almost—

"Watch where you're bloody going!"

"Oh!" Lily collided with something—some_one_, by the sound of it, and dropped her book, the parchment rolling down an adjoining corridor. "Bloody hell," she grumbled, chasing after it. She unrolled it and studied the text, trying to see if any of the ink had smeared. Slughorn wouldn't have minded if the paper had been missing three whole inches, but Lily was determined to prove she could do more than coast on her talents.

"May I recommend not walking with your eyes closed?" A hand held the potions book out to her.

"Sorry," she mumbled again.

"And Madame Pince wouldn't be at all happy to see how little care you take with school property, especially after you tried to steal it."

"I didn't try to steal it!" Lily cried, before realizing it was the same person who had laughed at her earlier. She looked up from her parchment.

Bellatrix Black was holding the book out impatiently. "Do you not want it? I'll just run it back to the library, then."

"No, I do—want it," Lily said, snatching the book away. "I just had to make sure there was nothing wrong with my--"

"Fascinating," Bellatrix said dryly. "If you don't mind." She turned to go.

"Thank you," Lily called awkwardly after her. Bellatrix made her nervous. Not because she was an older girl, after all, she wasn't _much_ older, and not because she was a Slytherin or a Pureblood or any of that class nonsense, _certainly_ not because they had once—

"Eyes open, Evans," Bellatrix said over her shoulder. "Don't want people thinking you're clumsy."

"Right," she said as brightly as she could. _Right? That's the best you could come up with? _Lily shook her head and made her way carefully to the common room.

Bellatrix stared after her, her dark eyes clouded. She shook her head and strode quickly off down the corridor.

Lily ducked through the doorway clutching her book. The common room was nearly deserted, it was late and most of the students were in their dormitories, preparing for bed. She sat in a large plush armchair and unrolled her parchment. Six more inches on the preparation and use of antidotes for Grindylow venom. She hadn't even known Grindylows _were_ venomous, but she supposed it was good to know that mallow root and flavia blossoms would work in a pinch. Not that she planned on getting bitten. She sighed and cracked the book.

_The bite of the Grindylow produces lethargy, paleness, paralysis and eventual death. Should the antidote not be administered promptly the victim will exhibit these symptoms along with delirium, shallow breathing, and heightened sensation in the hands and feet. _

_Doesn't sound so terrible_, Lily thought. _Except for the paralysis and death bit_.

_Apolline stretched out on the grassy bank of the Black Lake, her long slim body pale and cool, her lips parted, air whispering gently into her lungs as she cried out faintly for Lily, Lily who knew the cure. Lily frantically grinding the roots and flowers into a fine poultice, spreading the mixture so carefully, so tenderly across the scarlet wound, Apolline moaning faintly, her eyes sliding open, a smile breaking across her beautiful face as she blinked and saw Lily leaning over her, Lily who had saved her—_

"Don't let Peeves catch you in here," a male voice said from across the room. Lily started and the parchment and book fell to the floor with a loud thud.

"James! You startled me," she muttered, collecting her things. She wondered briefly how long she'd been lost in her thoughts. Couldn't have been too long, the fire was still crackling merrily in the grate.

"Just one of my many and varied talents," James said, a smirk in his voice. "Still working on Slughorn's essay, eh? I gave up on it ages ago. Good thing I stand next to you in Potions, or else he'd be on to me in a second."

"What do you mean?"

"Just that being associated with the professor's favorite student gives one a little more freedom than one might otherwise have."

"You're not cheating off me again, James," she said, a flush spreading across her cheeks. "I've worked really hard on this essay. I don't mean to have you take the credit for it."

"Slughorn knows I'd never have figured out it was—what was it?" He snatched Lily's parchment. "Flavia blossoms? Sounds like a load of rubbish to me, but what do I know?"

"Not much, that's clear," she huffed, snatching the parchment back. James didn't let go of his end and with a loud rip the paper tore in half. "Potter, you bloody bastard! I've been working on this for ages!" Anger flared up in her. "Give it back!"

"Hey now, no need for name-calling," James said, sounding slightly wounded. "I'll have it fixed in a tick, keep your knickers on."

"You're getting nowhere near my knickers," Lily growled as James pulled out his wand.

"Here, give me your half." He grabbed it out of her hand and tapped his wand on both sides. The parchment mended itself easily.

"Thank you," Lily said stiffly, holding out her hand for the scroll. James examined it closely, waving her hand away.

"I figure I ought to at least pretend I know what you're on about," he said as he stared at the writing. "Flavia blossoms _and_ mallow root? Sounds like a bloody love potion."

"Yes, well, that's why you'll end up cold and stiff when the Grindylow gets a bit of your arm," she said feebly. _I must be slipping. I'm usually so good at the clever retort._

"Better cold and stiff than—what's this?" he said, peering more closely at the paper. "Who's Apolline?"

Lily felt a cold rush of fear in her limbs. Her throat constricted, and she struggled to breathe normally. _So this is what a Grindylow bite is like_, she thought. "Nobody," she choked.

"But you've got it underlined. _And_ circled. It's not—hey, are you trying to make friends with those bloody French wankers?"

"Yes," she said, relief crashing over her. "I've got a—study appointment."

"Everyone knows Beauxbatons girls are only good at one thing," he said knowingly.

"Oh yes? And what's that?"

"I shouldn't say," James grinned. "Ladies present."

"Why don't you go back up to your room, then? That would take care of _that_ problem."

He gaped at her for a moment, then handed the parchment back without a word. "Goodnight, James," she called sweetly. He didn't make any indication he'd heard her as he stomped up the staircase to the boys' dormitory.

Lily took a deep breath and clutched the parchment to her chest. _How had Apolline's name gotten there?_ She must have written it while she was daydreaming. She unrolled it quickly, though taking care not to tear it again, and scanned the writing. She didn't see the name anywhere.

She took the parchment nearer the fire and knelt down on the carpet, carefully reading every word. Aside from a few missed punctuation marks she saw nothing out of the ordinary. Nowhere did she see that lovely name, certainly not underlined _and_ circled.

The coldness seeped back into her limbs. If it hadn't been written there, James had—but how—he couldn't—there was no—_bollocks_.

Lily resisted the momentary urge to throw her essay into the fire. She flopped back down in the armchair and rubbed her eyes. _He's just playing a trick. It's James, after all, that's what he does. But how would he have known to—perhaps he heard me whispering. Have to be more careful._

She closed her eyes firmly and took a deep breath. The vision of Apolline flitted across her mind and she smiled. She could certainly _think _it as loudly as she wanted.

Bellatrix stole across the grounds silently as a ghost, her long black cloak slipping easily though the trees. She stepped quickly over the gnarled roots, dodging low-hanging branches and swotting leaves away from her face. Ahead of her a twig snapped and she stopped, her breath catching in her throat.

"Bella?" a high, soft whisper. "Ees zat you?"

"Apolline?" she murmured back.

"Oui, yes, ees me." A tall, slender figure emerged from the brush, pulling back a deep blue hood to reveal a shining fall of gleaming blonde hair. Bellatrix gasped automatically at the sight. Apolline's face was as pale as the moonlight, her fine profile standing in sharp relief against the deep night. Her eyes glittered in the faint silver glow filtering into the atmosphere around her.

"I'm glad you came," Bellatrix said, feeling slightly awkward. Apolline was the only creature she had ever encountered who could make her feel inelegant, could make her feel ungainly and ill-at-ease.

"But of course I would come, Bella," Apolline whispered. "You ask me, and I am not rude."

"No, of course not," Bellatrix mumbled. "Not rude at all."

"Anyway," Apolline said, stealing closer. Bellatrix felt slightly faint as the girl approached, the glow of her skin and hair seeming to reflect onto her. "Ees as much for me as for you I come."

"Oh?" Her breath refused to obey her, coming in short, shallow bursts. She felt drunk around the girl. She felt very nearly powerless. It was part of the attraction, Bellatrix thought. _Nobody else can do this to me_.

"Oui," Apolline murmured, reaching out to stroke Bellatrix's cheek with her slim fingers. Bellatrix could trace where they had been long after Apolline broke contact, it was like her fingers had left warm, glittering trails across her skin. "Not every day does a beautiful girl ask to be meeting me in zee woods after dark."

Bellatrix tried but couldn't make words come. The nearness of Apolline had wrapped her in a fine, shimmering mist. The air itself seemed to sparkle, every breath tasted like honey and flowers. Bellatrix knew in the back of her mind that the girl was veela, at least partially, but she didn't care. It didn't matter, she had thought earlier, _why _the girl possessed her so, it was only that she _did_. She mumbled wordlessly, leaning in close to Apolline, basking in the girl's fine silver glow.

"Ah yes, Bella," Apolline murmured, brushing Bellatrix's cheek with her lips. Bellatrix half-whimpered and parted her lips. "Ees not so every day zat I am finding such a _belle fill_e who . . . what is zee word? Who _responds_ to me."

"Yes," Bellatrix whispered, reaching out to stroke Apolline's long silvery hair.

"Tell me," she breathed, her mouth close to Bellatrix's ear. "Why ees it taking so long for you to ask me?"

"What—do you mean?" Apolline's lips grazed her jaw. She clutched a little at the girl's cloak, drawing her even closer.

"I am looking at you ever since we arrive at 'ogwarts, and you act like you do not see me."

"Ever since you arrived?"

"Oui. Yes. Since almost zee moment zee carriage land on your field."

"Love at first sight, then?" Bellatrix nearly laughed. She'd noticed Apolline immediately as well, but she supposed everyone had. She doubted if _all _the Beauxbatons girls were veelas, beautiful as they were, but only Apolline had drawn every set of eyes in the Great Hall. And it wasn't as though it would've been so simple, just to walk up to the lovely French girl and ask her if she'd fancy a shag. Bellatrix had a reputation to protect. She had her pride to consider, since it had seemed inevitable that the girl would've laughed, would've flipped her silken hair in Bellatrix's face as she turned to go.

"Oh no," Apolline breathed. "We do not fall in love at Beauxbatons. We are of course trained in the arts of . . . hospitality? Ees the right word? Hospitality. Something you British are not, I am thinking."

"So you're just being polite?" Bellatrix kissed the tips of Apolline's proffered fingers.

"_Non, non, absolutement non._ What I am feeling about you, ees not _polite_." She giggled, and it sounded to Bellatrix like chimes. "And besides, as I already say, ees very difficult for a girl such as me to find another who is . . . sympathetic?"

"I didn't think your charms were supposed to work on women," Bellatrix breathed. "Isn't the idea for a veela to lure a mate?"

Apolline's face twisted prettily. "Of course zat may be," she said. "But not all veela are wanting some thickheaded oaf panting on top of zem."

Bellatrix guessed she had learned the phrase from one of the Hogwarts students. She smiled.

"And so," Apolline said, drawing very close to Bellatrix's mouth, "it ees taking a special girl to understand me. And I, I am very lucky zat it ees one who ees so . . . _charmant_."

She leaned near and ran the tip of her tongue across Bellatrix's lower lip. Bellatrix moaned softly and pressed Apolline's body against hers, capturing the girl's mouth in her own. The glow around Apolline expanded, intensified, until it enveloped both of them and flooded their little hollow with fine silver light.

Bellatrix was spinning inside the warmth of Apolline's kiss. She didn't feel the panic of not being in control of the situation, she didn't feel the strong urge to dominate, to command her. She allowed Apolline to dictate the terms of the kiss, allowed Apolline to take over and guide her. The relinquishing of her power excited Bellatrix, made her kiss deeper, hungrier.

"Oh Bella," Apolline whispered against Bellatrix's lips.

Bellatrix didn't make a sound except the soft whimpers that seemed to come from a place she didn't know existed. _Always so controlling. Always so dominant and perfect. But not now. Not with you. Apolline, Apolline, use me. Make me yours_.

"Bella?" A voice from farther off. Bellatrix managed to break away from Apolline's embrace and had her wand out in an instant. "What are you doing here?"

"Lucius." It was Malfoy, slinking through the undergrowth like a rat. Bellatrix trained her wand on him, her face frozen in a mask of loathing and dangerous focus. "I might ask you the same question."

"Who is—who was that?" he asked, pointing after Apolline's rapidly-vanishing form.

"Nobody you need to concern yourself with, Lucius," she said coldly, not dropping her wand. "Now if you'd be so good as to tell me how you just _happened_ to stumble upon me . . ."

He stared after the figure and answered without looking at Bellatrix. "Your sister noticed you'd gone. She was worried about you. I went to where she told me you might be."

"Oh Cissy," Bellatrix sighed. "How she manages to draw breath without permission is a mystery to me." Lucius said nothing, but was now looking at Bellatrix with a strange gleam in his eye. "Well?" she said, flicking her wand at him. A few sparks landed on his robes and he scrambled to brush them out. "You've found me. Unhurt. I suggest you return to the castle and inform my dear sister that she may go to sleep at last."

"Was that . . ." Lucius nodded meaningfully in the direction that Apolline had gone. "Was that a _Beauxbatons _girl?"

"You have completed your duties, Lucius," Bellatrix said, her words sharp and icy. "Feel free to go." A few more sparks shot out of her wand, larger and brighter than before. Lucius swallowed hard and nodded, his watery eyes bright. "And if I hear of you telling anyone what you've seen--"

"Nobody, Bella, I swear to you," he said nervously.

"Not even Narcissa," she warned. "Don't forget, Malfoy, she and I are very close. We tell each other _everything_." She let her tongue roll over the word to enjoy the effect it had on Lucius. He swallowed again and ran his hand over his hair, slicking it back. Nodding, he took a few halting steps backward. "Don't fall," Bellatrix said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "You can tell Cissy I'll be in to tend to her momentarily."

"To tend . . .?"

"Go, Lucius. Now." She shot a thin jet of red light at his feet. He gasped and ran from the forest as quickly as he could.

Bellatrix smiled. Apolline may have her completely powerless, but it was nice to flex her muscles every now and again. So she could enjoy the sweetness of the distinction.


	2. Chapter 2: Circles

"Hermione?"

She cringed slightly and ducked into the nearest doorway. She felt bad for doing it, but she'd been followed for days and was desperate for a bit of solitude.

"Hermione?"

Hermione held her breath and stood as still as she possibly could until the figure passed the door. She thought she'd seen the slightest pause, as though her pursuer could sense her there, and heaved a huge sigh of relief when she saw the shadow moving down the corridor away from her.

"Have you seen Hermione?" farther off.

"No, not recently. Did you try the library?"

"Yeah, of course. I've just come from there. I could've sworn she was just in front of me."

"Sorry."

Hermione heard Ginny grumbling in frustration as she wandered off in search of her quarry. She reached out and snagged Ron's sleeve as he walked by.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, you scared me!"

"Sorry," she whispered.

"You know Ginny's looking for you?"

"Yes," she said through gritted teeth. "She's been looking for me for _ages_."

"So what's the problem?"

Hermione sighed. Ron could be so _thick_ sometimes. Of course, it was good he didn't understand her frustration, since it meant he didn't know. And Ron's not knowing was one of the very few requirements she'd demanded of Ginny.

"I just need a little space to . . . do homework?" she said, hoping it didn't sound too suspicious. Ron grimaced.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione. You and homework." He shook his head. "Well, what should I tell Ginny? She's starting to bother me as much as she bothers you. You'd think she had no friends."

"Tell her . . . tell her you didn't see me. It's the simplest thing. I hate to make you lie, Ron, but . . ."

"Say no more. Secret's safe with me. So—what are you studying? I've finished all my homework. 'Course it's pointless to ask you, since you don't seem to understand that concept."

"Potions," Hermione said quickly. "Studying Potions. Still working on that Grindylow essay for Snape."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell. Please tell me you figured out the antidote. All I managed to come up with is don't get bitten."

Hermione smiled. He was thick, but sometimes it suited him. "Flavia blossoms. And mallow root."

"Sounds like a ruddy love potion," he said. "Thanks." He grinned and punched her shoulder. "Oh," he said, turning to her. "Harry wants to know if you've made any headway on the Goblet."

"I'm not helping you get your name in there, Ron," she said, trying to hide her smile. Ron shrugged.

"Bloke can't be blamed for trying," he said and sauntered off.

Hermione leaned against the doorway and closed her eyes. _How do I get Ginny to leave me alone? Short of giving her a draught of something, of course_. She smacked her forehead. Had it really gotten so bad that she was thinking of poisoning her? No, of course not. She was overreacting. But still, a bit of Instant Enemy Serum couldn't hurt, just a drop in her pumpkin juice. Just to get Ginny to avoid her for one bloody day—

"_There_ you are!"

Hermione sucked in a breath and almost choked. Ginny was standing in the corridor, hands on her hips, an exasperated look on her face. "I've been looking _everywhere_ for you!"

"Oh?" Hermione said weakly. She fumbled with her books, and tried to make it look as though she had been interrupted deep in thought about Grindylow venom.

"Yes. I was just about to go down to the pitch, thought you might like to join me."

"Oh . . . umm . . ." Hermione stalled as best she could. The walk down to the Quidditch pitch had been one of their favorite things, back when Hermione had been interested in the many detours among the outcroppings of rock and secret pathways through the trees. Now, however, the idea made her wince.

"You all right? Nobody's seen you, not even Ron. And the way _he _follows you around . . ." Ginny giggled. "Honestly, you'd think he was the one snogging you." She leaned in to kiss Hermione, but Hermione dodged and spun into the corridor.

"Look, Ginny, I'm really busy with this essay. You know what Snape's like."

"Snape." Ginny waved her hand dismissively. "Your essay is probably fine. It's probably _perfect_, and anyway, you know he's not going to give you the marks you deserve on it. Come on, let's go!" She hooked her arm through Hermione's and dragged her down the hall.

_Just a drop in her pumpkin juice_.

"Oi! Parvati!" Ginny cried to the crowd of girls clustered in the hall. Parvati stopped and turned.

"Hi Ginny. Hermione," she said, looking the pair of them up and down with the appraising way Hermione hated.

"If you see Padma, will you ask her to ask Dean to ask Seamus to please _stop_ putting owl nuts in my cereal? I mean, how immature can you _get?"_

Parvati sighed dramatically. "I _know_! Just the other day Dean was talking to Hannah who was telling Michael Corner that she saw Seamus trying to turn water into wine _again_ and nearly blew up the common room!"

Ginny and Parvati rolled their eyes in unison. Hermione cringed inwardly. She found herself wishing for the days when Ginny had been too in awe of her and Harry to even speak in their presence. Long past, she thought ruefully. _Never should've kissed her that day._

Hermione thought back to the end of the previous year, when she had been so overwhelmed with worry and schoolwork and had just needed a break, had only needed someone who didn't care about intrigues, about grades, about any of it. And Ginny had been so quiet, so sweet to her that it seemed a tremendous relief that she had been able to disappear with her for hours, talking about nothing, not talking at all. And then Hermione had kissed her behind the rocks leading to the Quidditch pitch, which she imagined was part of the reason it had become Ginny's favorite stroll. Hermione had never pegged Ginny as sentimental, but appearances had proved deceiving.

"Laters, Gin," Parvati called after them. "Hermione."

"Ginny," Hermione huffed as the other girl pulled her out into the courtyard. "Ginny, _stop_." Hermione planted her feet and Ginny came to a halt with a jerk.

"What?"

"I really am busy," she said. "I _really_ need to finish this. I'm sorry--" _shouldn't say you're sorry—_"but I've got to go." She wrestled her arm out of Ginny's and turned without letting Ginny speak. She strode quickly back to the castle and thought she heard Ginny calling after her but didn't turn back.

She was walking fast, head down, making her way for the library when she ran straight into something. Some_one_, by the sound of it.

"What ees this? Watch where you are going, silly leetle girl!"

She looked up and was struck momentarily dumb by the sight of Fleur Delacour, who stood in front of her rubbing her arm and scowling. _Even scowling she's beautiful. _She took a breath. _It's because she's part veela_, Hermione reminded herself. _But it shouldn't have any effect on me, I'm not a boy_.

That idea didn't seem to make a difference, as Hermione stood unable to move or speak in front of Fleur. Someone bumped her arm as they passed and knocked her out of her stupor.

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I wasn't looking."

"I can see _zat_," Fleur said coldly. The group of Beauxbatons students flocking around her tittered. Hermione glanced at them, noticing their uniform long blond hair and perfect noses. Her eyes flicked back to Fleur, who was looking her over in the same way that Parvati did. Not the same way, Hermione thought. It felt like Fleur was taking her measurements differently, somehow. Like she was an examination. Hermione wondered briefly if she had passed as Fleur and her friends stalked away. One of them glanced back at her and whispered something to the girl next to her, both of them giggling behind their hands.

Hermione watched them walk away, still shaking off the dazed feeling Fleur had cast over her. _It shouldn't have any effect on me_, she thought again. She couldn't help but wonder about it as she stared at the back of Fleur's head. She hadn't encountered any of the Beauxbatons students directly since their arrival, which she supposed was just as well. She'd already gotten tired of Ron's simpering over Fleur, despite repeated reminders of why exactly that was. _If I have to hear one more time about how pretty her hair is . . . _

But her hair certainly _was_ quite pretty. Hermione tried to pretend she hadn't noticed it herself at the welcoming feast, tried to pretend she wasn't mentally agreeing with Ron's insipid commentary. _It must be Ginny's fault_, she thought suddenly. _Though how could that be? Ginny doesn't have anything to do with the tournament, she hasn't even met any of them_. Still, Hermione had the distinct impression that Fleur Delacour wouldn't have been such a distraction if Ginny hadn't primed her for it. _Ginny's primed me for all sorts of distraction. Merlin's sakes, she's got me wondering how I can slip a potion into her drink_.

Hermione shook her head and straightened her books. She considered going to the library to work on her essay, but the thought of studying antidotes made her feel sleepy.

"There you are!" a voice cried from farther down the corridor. Hermione groaned. She'd never been so popular in all her life as she was today. She looked up. Harry was running toward her.

"What, Harry?" she said, realizing it must have sounded harder than she meant it to. "What's going on?"

"Ginny's been looking for you."

Hermione clapped her hand over her eyes. "Bloody hell."

"What?" Harry looked confused.

"I know," she moaned. "She found me."

"Oh," Harry said evenly, doing a fine job of disguising his befuddlement. "Well, I take it you've got it sorted."

"Indeed," Hermione said. "Look, Harry, I'm really busy right now, I've got loads of homework--"

"Any ideas on this Grindylow antidote? I didn't even know they were venomous."

"Flavia blossoms. Mallow root."

He grinned. "You're the best."

"So they tell me," she said as he ran off. She sighed heavily and decided to take the longest, least-traveled route to anywhere there weren't likely to be people. Which, she realized, was probably the library. She ducked around a column and made her way for the far side of the castle.

Madame Pince looked over her spectacles as Hermione huffed into the library. The longest way was quite long, and Hermione was winded by the time she reached her destination. Pince frowned disapprovingly and Hermione tried to catch her breath more quietly. She ducked down one of the narrow aisles and found an empty table. It wasn't difficult; as she'd suspected the library was nearly deserted.

She sighed and opened her book without looking at the page. After a few moments of blank staring she closed it again and stood up, examining the shelves. _The Habits and Habitats of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack and Other Fantastical Creatures_._ Thirty-Seven Uses for Newt Skin. Witches and Wizards of the Far East. A History of Notable Wizards and their Pets_. She leaned forward and rested her head on the shelf. Very sleepy. Perhaps she could crawl into a dark corner and—

Suddenly the spine of a book caught her eye. It had elaborate gilding and was bound in soft, velvety pale leather. _The Lure of the Veela_.

Hermione glanced around her, feeling slightly ridiculous. Who would care that she was interested in veela? She could always say it was to better understand the Triwizard guests. After all, nearly everybody had figured out what Fleur was, seeing as how most of the male students spent most of their free time trying to get near her. She bit her lip and slid the book off the shelf. By Niobe Athenaïs.

She flipped through the book, which seemed to have a disproportionate number of illustrations, displaying various veela in various shimmering settings. They all seemed to have flowing blonde hair and long, languid bodies, and Hermione halfway felt their pull through the pages. _But why? _Certainly they were very beautiful, since that appeared to be their entire purpose for existing. Indeed, she discovered as she flipped the pages, it was only relatively recently that anyone had figured out that veela were capable of doing the same things as perfectly ordinary witches. _Since most researchers are men it's not surprising it took so long_, she thought, half-amused. Still, she couldn't understand why Fleur's charms were affecting her.

_The lure of the veela is nearly impossible for any man to resist. Their charms stem from a deep magic traced back to the far Mediterranean, and are thought to originate from two particular locations: a small peninsula in what is now southern France, and a set of islands in modern-day Greece. Many veela still reside in or around these areas, and as a result their most highly-concentrated populations are to be found in Continental Europe. _

_Which explains why I've never encountered one before_.

She flipped through the pages, skimming over the broader outlines of veela history, before finding a short chapter near the back. _Rare Effects of Veela Magic on Non-Male Persons._ She stopped flipping through the book and began to read intently.

_In certain very rare situations, the charms of the veela can be detected by witches and female Muggles. While this is extraordinarily uncommon, it is thought to be a result of the veela's own intention. Researchers believe this rarity is being eradicated from the race, since the veela's charms are passed from mother to daughter and therefore is not carried on by non-reproductive specimens._

Hermione felt a twist of disgust in her belly. "Specimens." Because a veela fancied girls, girls would fancy her. She supposed it made sense. But still, the way this Niobe Athenaïs talked about it you'd think such women were monsters. And who was she to imply it was a disease of some kind?

"Thank Merlin it's not contagious," she muttered. There was a soft cough from behind her and she jumped, slamming the book closed. She heard Madame Pince's reproving tut from across the library and smoothed the cover gently.

"I am sorry," a deep voice said. "I was just noticing that you was here and I thought maybe I would come and make hellos."

She turned slowly and saw one of the Durmstrang students standing awkwardly behind her. Viktor Krum. She remembered Ron's awe and excitement as Krum had come thundering through the Great Hall. Some sort of Quidditch player.

"Hello," she said without inflection. _Bollocks. Can't even be left alone in the library_.

"What is it you are reading?" Krum asked. Hermione flushed and coughed slightly.

"Just a book," she muttered. He nodded.

"Yes, a book." He didn't seem to care much beyond that.

"Well . . . hello," she said again.

"I am Viktor."

"Yes."

"And your name is what, please?"

"Oh . . . Hermione," she said quickly. "It's very nice to meet you, Viktor, but I'm--"

"Is very nice to be meeting you as well, Hermy-own."

Hermione swallowed hard. Clearly Krum had no intention of leaving her in peace.

"Yes . . . well," she said.

"I am noticing you since our boat arrives at Hogwarts," he said, still standing behind her. "But I am seeing you always with the red-haired girl and boy and I think it is better that I do not talk to you."

"No—it's fine," she said. "They're just—friends."

"Ah," he said, never taking his eyes from her face. She felt herself redden and realized she ought to make some sort of effort.

"Would you like to sit?" she asked, indicating the seat across from her.

"Thank you," Krum said, sitting down beside her. He didn't look at the books or the papers, but continued to study her face. _Never so popular . . . _she thought. But then another thought occurred to her. Krum clearly didn't want to know the secrets of Grindylow antidote. Perhaps she could—

But it felt wrong to even think of using someone else's affection for her. Even if it would most likely have the benefit of chasing Ginny away. Hopefully. Hermione didn't want to think about what would happen if Ginny thought she and Krum were an item. Didn't want to imagine the tears. Still, it was better than Instant Enemy Serum. Her fingertips grazed the book in front of her. And if she was spending time with one of the visiting students, maybe she'd have the opportunity to spend more time around Fleur at one of the many Triwizard functions. After all, if she was swayed by the veela's charms, it could only mean . . .

_I should feel bad about this._

Hermione took a deep breath and traced the gilt lettering on the cover of the book.

"So Viktor," she said. "I hear you play Quidditch."


	3. Chapter 3: Mirrors

She sat in front of the mirror, brushing out her hair.

Every day she sat there, facing the shimmering oblong disk, and released her hair from its pins and ribbons, and took up the soft brush and let it slip between her fingers, the entire silken length of it.

_Like a princess in a tower_.

She tried not to look at her face as she brushed her hair, since the bruises made ugly purple marks there. When she caught a glimpse of herself she would gasp and let her hair fall in front of her eyes, would let it catch her tears.

_She calls it love_.

She would wind the silver strands around her fingers and let it slip through her hands like water, half-amazed by its beauty. She did not feel beautiful, she felt in awe of her gleaming corona of hair, she felt uglier underneath it than she could ever say.

_She calls it love when she makes these bruises_.

Every day she sat there, not looking at her face, every day she hid in her room in the highest part of the house. She could not lock her door so she pushed a chair against it, she could not lock her door because the others had stopped her. They had taken her wand.

_Like a princess in a tower. Waiting. But there is nobody coming to save me._

As she stroked the shining length of her hair she felt calm, as she wrapped it around her eyes she felt safe and warm in the dark.

_Nobody can touch me._

She was safe there until the others came and knocked the door open, until they pushed the chair away and burst inside. It was always _her_.

"Cissy?"

_I wish I knew how_

"Cissy, open the door. You've blocked it again, haven't you? What a foolish thing to do, my little Cissy. You make me think I'm not wanted."

_I wish I knew how to get away_

"Cissy. Narcissa. Open the bloody door. You know I hate to burst in like an ogre. You know how I feel about looking like a madwoman."

_I wish I knew how to get away from this place_

"Narcissa. I shall ask you once more, and then I shall come in, and if I have to blast the door open I shall be very upset indeed."

Narcissa continued to brush her hair with long, even strokes. The glistening fall of it obscured her eyes, hung in a straight silver curtain almost to the floor. Her face betrayed nothing as Bellatrix cursed and stamped outside, she displayed no reaction as the burst of white light filled her room. The chair shot across the floor and crashed into the far wall. She continued to draw the brush through her hair.

"Narcissa," Bellatrix said, her voice low, barely controlled. "I asked you _so_ politely."

She said nothing.

"Not speaking again this evening?" Bellatrix sneered. "It's not as though you've got anything to say anyway. Little mute," she said, suddenly tender, drawing close behind her. "Beautiful little silent Cissy." Bellatrix reached out and placed her hand on Narcissa's hair, and she flinched.

"Don't be afraid, darling," Bellatrix cooed, lowering her face so it was parallel with Narcissa's. "Look at us," she whispered, cupping Narcissa's chin and forcing her to face the mirror. "You and I. So different."

Narcissa's lip trembled as she stared at her own reflection. The bruises bloomed along her jaw, streaked lividly down her white throat.

"Look at us," Bellatrix whispered again, her eyes sliding closed. "You're like an angel, Cissy. You're so beautiful." Bellatrix's fingers began stroking Narcissa's lower lip, forcing their way into her mouth. "So beautiful."

A whimper escaped her despite her best efforts to keep it tight inside. Bellatrix smiled, her sharp teeth glinting in the candlelight. The tip of her tongue slid over her lip and she shivered.

_She is like an animal. I am like an angel_.

Narcissa did not make a sound. She did not move. She stared at herself in the mirror, stared at her pale blue eyes until she could make them into doorways and she slipped deep inside them. She couldn't feel Bellatrix touching her any more, couldn't hear Bellatrix's dark murmur.

"Oh, little sister," Bellatrix said softly. "My darling one. You know that I love you more than I have ever loved another creature, except Him. But I do not love even Him in the way that I love you." She plucked a strand of hair and twisted it between her fingers. "He is coming to take me away, Cissy, and I shall be gone from you for a while. But don't cry, my darling, you have Mummy and Daddy to take care of you. Of course," she breathed, slowly working the strands into a thin silver rope, "they won't take care of you like I do."

Narcissa remained silent. She was lost inside her own reflection, but it wasn't herself she saw any more. It was a deep, quiet pool and she was falling soundlessly down, down down.

"You must be very good, Cissy. You must do just as they tell you. And—shall I tell you a secret, my darling sister?" Bellatrix wound the fine filament around her wrist. "They are bringing someone for you. Lucius Malfoy. Are you surprised?"

_Down, down, down_

"I didn't think you would be. You're such a . . . _pair_. But don't worry, dearest. He won't mean anything. Nothing will come between us."

Bellatrix stood, pressing her body against Narcissa's immobile frame. She traced her fingers up and down the planes of Narcissa's face, down her slender neck. Her hand stroked the mottled expanse of flesh there and she began slowly to unwind the long strands of hair she had twisted around her wrist. "He will be your pet, I think, as he once was mine. Oh, nothing like that, but he's so easily led. And with someone as beautiful as you to follow behind . . ." Bellatrix brought her arm around in front of Narcissa's face and slowly, carefully began to wind the silver rope around her throat. "Your own little pet, my darling."

Bellatrix sucked in a breath as she pulled more tightly on the rope of hair that circled Narcissa's neck. Narcissa's eyes began to water, and Bellatrix pushed herself harder against her sister's body.

Narcissa felt herself so near the bottom of that deep, dark pool, so close to the crushing silence she yearned for. She was reaching out her hand to touch it, it was just there, and suddenly she felt herself pulled back, jerked hard upward, flying away from the endless expanse of dim silence and back into herself.

She saw her face in the mirror, ice-white, her lips fringed with pale, nacreous blue. Saw the fine silver rope bound about her throat, and through the tears pooling in her eyes she first mistook it for a chain.

Bellatrix was murmuring wordlessly, pushing herself hard against Narcissa's body. Narcissa began to struggle a little, to try to breathe, and Bellatrix's lips parted and she slowly tipped her head back, one hand still holding tightly to Narcissa's hair and the other stroking her throat, stroking down her body, Narcissa felt so unspeakably filthy then as she always did, the warm flush of desire beginning to spread throughout her, the tangling of her hatred, her lust, her hot black love for Bellatrix making her dizzy, making her weak.

_She calls it love._

"Cissy? Narcissa, darling?"

Narcissa's eyes flew open and she sat up, smoothing her hair quickly. Lucius's footsteps were coming nearer.

"What is it?" she said, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

Lucius pushed open the door to her room cautiously. "I was just wondering where you were. I hadn't seen you."

"Oh," she said quickly. "I was just—resting."

Lucius looked relieved. Narcissa felt a momentary sting of resentment. _Can he never leave me in peace?_

_My own little pet_.

Lucius entered the room and stood next to Narcissa's dressing-table. He reached out and ran his hand down her hair, smiling contentedly. "You're so lovely, my darling," he said softly.

She reached up and clasped his wrist. "Yes," she said without emotion.

He looked at her reflection in the mirror for a moment and then dropped his eyes to her face. "Well," he said.

"Well."

He looked at her again, slightly quizzical. "Are you nearly ready?"

"Ready?"

"Cissy, my love, our guests will be here at any moment."

"Guests?" She was confused. She thought hard about what day it was. Her thoughts of Bellatrix always threw her into a dreamlike state. "Oh—of course. Yes, darling, I'll be ready shortly."

Lucius smiled again. "Wonderful. I'll go down to greet them." He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her fingers. Narcissa barely repressed her shudder at the touch. He released her and left the room, closing the door behind him quietly.

She listened until she couldn't hear his footsteps any more and rose, crossing to her armoire. She must look perfect for their guests. Karkaroff and that Frenchwoman were coming to her house tonight. Lucius had invited them, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Karkaroff, of course, had been loyal to the cause so many years ago, but had turned on them as so many had.

_As Lucius might as well have_, she thought. _But he did it for me. For Draco_.

She turned around and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. For a half-second she thought she saw another figure, dark and slim, standing behind her. _Bella_.

Repulsion and yearning coursed through her as she imagined Bellatrix, locked deep within Azkaban.

She blinked and turned back to the wardrobe, pulling her gown from its hook. She must prepare to meet the guests. Must not upset Lucius. _Though he would be at a loss for what to do with me_, she thought, a faint smile touching the corners of her mouth.

In the dining room the table was laid with exquisite care. Lucius sat at the head, Karkaroff to his right. Across from the wizard was an enormous woman, strangely elegant despite her size.

"You must be Madame Maxime," Narcissa said graciously, extending her hand.

"Ees a pleasure to meet you," Madame Maxime said, standing and enveloping Narcissa's hand in her massive grip.

"And Igor, it's been too long," she said, crossing behind Lucius and offering her cheek to Karkaroff.

"Narcissa, you are beautiful as I remember you. You have not aged a single day." She smiled prettily and took her seat at the end of the table.

"Well," Lucius said officiously. "Narcissa and I would both like to welcome you to our home. We are both extremely honored by your presence. Of course they've been treating you well at Hogwarts, I have no doubt, but my wife and I both feel you ought to meet some of the more . . . notable families, shall we say?"

Karkaroff laughed. Madame Maxime smiled and nodded.

"We are honored to be here as well, Lucius," Madame Maxime said. "It is true, we are very well treated at 'ogwarts, but for myself I am used to zee, 'ow you say it, formal society?"

"And indeed you've found it," Lucius said. "Narcissa? Would you ring for the elves, darling?"

"Of course, Lucius," she replied, forcing her smile. These dinners always made her so weary. The pomp and circumstance fitted Lucius perfectly but she was so much happier when she could be left to her thoughts. She rang the silver bell next to her place.

"Madame Malfoy," Madame Maxime began.

"Oh please, you must call me Narcissa. You are among equals here," she said. Madame Maxime smiled again.

"But of course you must call me Olympe. Narcissa, I was just remarking to Monsieur Karkaroff zat you resemble so closely one of zee girls I have brought with me. She has also such long and beautiful hair."

"Oh?"

"Yes, my darling Fleur is zee most beautiful of all my students. Of course, you must not be telling zee others zat I say this!"

"Your secret is safe with me, Olympe."

"Oui. Yes. Fleur I must tell you, she is zee one zat I am thinking will be our champion in zee tournament. She is so talented! And of course she will go very far in zee world, especially with her other . . . gifts."

"Other gifts?"

Karkaroff leaned in conspiratorially. "Well, I cannot be saying for myself, but I am thinking this girl must be a veela the way all of my students are following her."

"You have guessed it, Igor! Ahh, it is such a relief to be among clever people. Of course I do not mean to say our hosts are not clever, but . . ."

"No need for apologies here, Olympe," Lucius said. "We have some very definite ideas about that lot. Why, the students they allow in--"

"Lucius," Narcissa said sharply. "Another time, perhaps." She detested his way of delving into blood supremacy at the table, especially in front of guests. _With Bella it's different. Lucius is filled with false pride and fear. Bella understands it. _

Lucius coughed. "Of course, darling. Our dinner has arrived as it is."

The elves moved quickly around the table, serving the first course as unobtrusively as they could. Madame Maxime roared with laughter at the sight.

"Oh, in France we have nothing like this! At Beauxbatons one never sees zee servants. We do not like our students having to mix with such creatures."

"We do not have these at Durmstrang either," Karkaroff said. "Our students must learn to prepare their own food. We believe it makes them stronger."

"Well." Lucius raised his glass. "To each his own."

"Oui," Madame Maxime chime, and drained her goblet. "Ees elf-made, no?"

"Yes," Narcissa said. And then, "How many veela do you have at Beauxbatons?"

"Oh, not so very many." The woman refilled her glass. "Ees very difficult to have zem among zee other students. Jealousy, you see. And also it becomes difficult for zee male teachers sometimes." She laughed again. "But at Beauxbatons we believe in training all zee girls to use whatever their natural abilities are. So, la."

"The girls are jealous of the veela students? Because of the attention they get from their professors?"

"Taken an interest, Narcissa?" Lucius half-smiled. "We'll have to go on holiday to France this summer, perhaps you can meet one."

"Oh no, nothing like that," Narcissa said quickly. "I'm just curious. I've only met one veela in my life and I didn't even know it until later."

"Ah yes, zee girls are quite harmless to zee other women. Zee jealousy, oui, it ees from zee attention they are getting from zee boys."

"Well, I must agree with you, Madame," Karkaroff said. "I have met one or two veela in my travels and they are most captivating."

"Indeed."

The guests and Lucius began to talk of English wizarding society. Narcissa felt herself slipping away from the conversation. She wondered idly about the veela girl, Fleur, who looked like her. Perhaps she would ask Draco about her. Perhaps on one of their visits to the school he could point the girl out. Perhaps it would be like looking in a mirror.

Her thoughts turned unbidden to Bellatrix, forcing her to look at her own reflection. The crawling feeling of exposure, of nakedness as she stared at herself. She had never looked at Bellatrix when she had been held captive there, had only looked deep into her own eyes.


End file.
